Reincarnated with a lucky draw system

"What nonsense are you spewing, Dracula? How can you receive both a blessing and a curse?" Veylar demanded, his voice sharp, yet tinged with disbelief. His obsidian-black eyes narrowed, searching for sense in the words that cut against everything he understood.

Dracula stood there, calm as still night, crimson eyes glimmering faintly. "It was the universe's foolishness," he replied, his tone smooth, deliberate, carrying weight without effort. "Naturally, the Lord of the Eternal Night would never relinquish the blessing offered to him. As punishment, the universe will extended beyond its norm… and gave me a curse. An irony, is it not?"

His words carried both mockery and bitterness, though his face betrayed none.

"I was granted the Blessing of Blood… and chained with the Curse of Blood."

---

"Impossible," Veylar shot back, his voice rising as his aura flared. "The Blessing of Blood grants absolute precision, absolute control over one's own blood. With it, imagination itself becomes the only limit—an infinite potential locked in the veins. That is what I was told of you, Dracula. It was why no one—myself included—dared claim equality before you."

His expression twisted. "Not until you defied the universe will, and were stripped of your privilege."

---

"Then…" Veylar's voice lowered, suspicion dawning. "What is your curse?"

"Simple," Dracula said, his calmness colder than any fury. "A curse designed to cripple my gift. I was rendered unable to use my own blood. A handicap meant to make my blessing meaningless."

The void trembled faintly as he spoke, as if the endless chaos itself recoiled from his words.

---

Veylar sneered, though unease tugged at his heart. "Without blood, you are nothing more than a crippled primogenitor. A sovereign in name alone. But that—" his brows furrowed, his voice uncertain, "—that doesn't explain the madness before me."

Dracula's lips curved faintly, neither smile nor frown. "Veylar… how low have you fallen? Did you truly think I would bow to the universe will forever? So what if I cannot control my blood? Then I will simply craft something greater. I labored endlessly—succeeded. I converted my very blood into essence. With my blessing, I reshaped it into something unique. My curse rendered useless."

He stepped closer, each movement deliberate, his words like blades piercing the air.

"If I cannot wield my own blood… and essence itself is too inert to be weaponized… then I shall wield the blood of my adversaries. That is the path I carved. That is the truth before you."

The declaration hit like thunder. Veylar shuddered, for the first time the unshakable mask of a sovereign cracking.

"You… you monster," he breathed, horror and awe entwined in equal measure.

---

Dracula chuckled, low and unhurried. "A monster, am I? Then so be it. I was always meant to be what the universe feared." His gaze burned brighter, a crimson moon in the endless void.

Veylar's lips curled into a bitter laugh, his body trembling as if accepting the inevitability. "Hahahaha… I see it now. I was fighting a losing battle from the very beginning. To think I, Veylar Morvane, believed I could defeat one who defied the universe itself."

He steadied his voice, curiosity pushing through the dread. "Then tell me, this essence of yours… why can't I sense it? I am no fledgling. A sovereign like me should perceive even the faintest unnatural essence. Yet from you, I sense nothing."

---

Dracula's gaze sharpened, his answer delivered like a verdict. "Because I willed it so. With my imagination, I ensured my blood essence became indistinguishable from the natural essence of the universe will itself. Do you not realize, Veylar? The very mana you breathe, the power you rely on, is already intertwined with my blood essence."

Veylar's eyes widened, disbelief warring with dread. Dracula continued, relentless.

"The stronger you are, the deeper your reliance on mana. And the more confident you grow in wielding it, the tighter my grip upon your blood. This is the truth, Veylar Morvane. The higher you soar, the tighter my chains wrap around you. Consider your curiosity satisfied."

---

Veylar lowered his gaze, his fists trembling. At last, the weight of inevitability crushed him. His voice cracked, softer than before. "Then… if I may have but one request…"

His obsidian eyes glistened, not with weakness but with the last flicker of dignity. "Spare some of my clan. My daughter… Velira. Spare her, even if it means placing her in eternal sleep."

Dracula regarded him in silence. Then, after a long pause, he nodded slowly. "Very well. I will spare her—not in chains, nor in eternal sleep. She shall walk free, untouched, unharmed. Consider this my final compromise, Veylar. A gift… to my once brother."

"Thank you," Veylar whispered. His head rose high, carrying the dignity of a sovereign even as death loomed.

Dracula turned, his cloak whispering like shadow. The void trembled—and Veylar's body burst into blood mist, scattering into the endless nothing.

---

The universe wailed.

---

"It seems Dracula has put an end to Veylar. The universe itself mourns the death of a sovereign." Athena of the god race whispered, her golden hair darkened by the black rain that fell across realms. Each drop sizzled with divine sorrow.

"Dracula grows ever stronger," Zeus muttered grimly, seated upon his grand throne of Olympian stone. His gaze pierced beyond the walls of his citadel, through the falling black rain, into the endless beyond. "Not a single being could spy upon his battle. Not even Odin himself. If we do not act soon, he will become… a problem none of us can solve."

---

Far in the demon realm, Baal reclined lazily upon his throne of skulls, crimson fire burning in his eyes. A crooked smile tugged his lips.

"So… Dracula wins. How arrogant. This black rain—his message to us. 'I need no help.'" He chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. "How amusing."

---

Panic spread like wildfire.

"He… he is dead! Lord Veylar is dead! I don't want to die!!!" A vampire of the conservative clan shrieked, his fear echoing across their citadel.

They knew the truth. When a primogenitor perished, every vampire tied to his cursed bloodline perished alongside him. Only those born of his flesh—his true children—survived. Turned vampires, those made from his blood rather than born of it, were doomed.

"No! No, this can't be happening!" another screamed, eyes wild with despair. "It's his fault! That damn fool of a primogenitor! We should never have provoked Dracula!"

Chaos overtook them. The black rain poured harder, drenching the worlds, marking the passing of a sovereign.

---

At the heart of the storm, Velira Morvane, daughter of Veylar, stood by her window. Seventeen years old. Barely awakened. A child by vampire reckoning. Tears gathered in her crimson eyes as she pressed a pale hand to the glass, watching the endless rain of mourning.

Her father was gone. Soon, her clan would follow. She would be left alone.

Perhaps her mother's clan, the Nightstalkers, would accept her. Yet the thought twisted her stomach. The Nightstalkers—flesh eaters, cannibals of their own kin. To live among them was a fate crueler than solitude.

Her heart ached. She prayed she would not be forced into their embrace.

---

"It's your father's fault we're dying!" a voice screeched. The door behind her splintered as a blood-soaked vampire staggered in, eyes wild with rage and despair. His claws gleamed red. "If I kill you, Velira, then I will have my revenge!"

Velira froze. Her young body trembled, powerless. She hadn't undergone her awakening ceremony, nor her blood awakening. Her bloodline slumbered, unawakened. The little vampiric power she'd wielded till now had been a gift—her father's blood sustaining her. With him gone, she was nothing.

Weaker than the weakest. Prey.

She closed her eyes. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she whispered in her heart, Father… I'm coming.

---

But then—

"How dare you raise a hand against a pureblood?"

The voice cut through the air like an executioner's blade. Cold. Chilling. Final.

The crazed vampire froze mid-stride, terror slamming into his heart. His limbs locked. He dared not breathe.

"It would have been better had you awaited death patiently," the voice continued, dripping with disdain.